Quotes About Love

When I think of how Jesus loved people, the word "cherish" comes to mind. When we cherish someone, we combine looking and compassion—we notice and care for that person. We don't shut him or her out.

Loving means losing control of our schedule, our money, and our time. When we love we cease to be the master and become a servant.

Even on especially hard days, I began to notice him everywhere, setting a table before me in the presence of my enemies, pursuing me with his love. Both the child and the cynic walk through the valley of the shadow of death. The cynic focuses on the darkness; the child focuses on the Shepherd.

I find myself combing the past these days, dreaming dreams without sleep, puzzling over my guys, the gay and the straight and the in-between. Somewhere in there is a horror of love, and to try to kill the beast in them, they take it out on us. Which is not to say I don't chastise myself for halving the world into us and them. I know that the good guys aren't all gay, or the bad all straight. That is what I am sifting for, to know what a man is finally, no matter the tribe or gender.

Perhaps we were atheists by default, but the matter of God did not come into the equation of our love.

Love and fuck in the same breath, even if it's your last.

unpossessive. Before his parents left, Al once again paid him the highest compliment about his relationship with me. "You boys are the best friends I've ever seen," he said. "You're like Damon and Pythias." It's a long way for a man to come who couldn't look me in the face for a year after Roger finally told him he was gay. A century

Love and fuck in the same breath, even if it's your last.

And thus I wonder about so many gay men I've met since, pillars of the community, out to everyone else but Mom, who still refer to their lovers as something between a roommate and a valet. Just who is being protected here, and who thinks queer is wrong?

For it turned out there were closets within the closet, and a lingering self-hatred that even the joy of connection couldn't solve. What love gives you is the courage to face the secrets you've kept from yourself, a reason to open the rest of the doors.

that all there is is love. Pity us not. Los Angeles 29 June 1987

I kept my heart alive in the desert years by turning it into a valentine, holding on to the hope of every romantic cliché like wedding cake under a pillow. If you have to wait as long as I did, you either become an awful sentimentalist or die of disillusion.

I live in what's left of the evidence not out there in the rotting garden the firebombed street and Plato's myth of lovers the fates meeting of equal halves is a tale for lonely kids

Secrets upon secrets. Thus by inexorable degrees does the love that dares not speak its name build walls instead, till a house is nothing but closets.

Wouldn't you like right now to last forever?' Roger said as we lolled on the picnic slope. The afterglow of it lasted for days, for we bragged about it as if we'd just ascended K-2.

Grief is madness-ask anyone who's been there. They will tell you it abates with time, but that's a lie. What drowns you in the first year is a force of solitude and helplessness exactly equal in intensity to the love you had for the one who's gone. Equally passionate, equally intimate. The spaces between the the stabs of pain grow longer after a while, but they're empty spaces. The chich?(c)s of condolence get you back to the office.

That as long as I kept them apart, love would be sexless and sex loveless, endlessly repeating its cycle of self-denial and self-abuse.

So I told myself I would give it up, even prayed at night for it to be taken away, not knowing that 'it' was love.

That the flesh and the spirit are one in love is none of the business of the celibate men of God, especially those who believe they rule the province of love.

Go without hate, but not without rage. Heal the world.

The problem with secret crushes: in the absence of requital the love turns bitter.

In this Puritan sinkhole of a culture, we don't teach children the uses of pleasure, and so they decide we are fools and go their own way, blindly. If we learned to drive as badly as we learn to make love, the roads would be nothing but wrecks.

To experience love as claustrophobia. In such a twisted paradigm lies the sick legacy of a lifetime in the closet.

What love gives you is the courage to face the secrets you've kept from yourself, a reason to open the rest of the doors.